NBA – Inside the Mind of Kings GM: Tony Montana

In the room were three men: Kings owner Vivek Ranadive, Kings assistant GM Mike Bratz, and Kings GM Tony Montana. While the office was grand in size, with a tiger cage and military grade weapons sprawled everywhere, the three men sat in the back of the room at Tony’s massive oak desk that supported a miniature mountain of cocaine. On one side of the pile, in plastic folding chairs, sat Vivek and Bratz; on the other side, in his grand chair that sported his TM initials, sat a bleary-eyed Montana, the tip of his nose caked in white powder. Tony’s face disappeared within the mountain of blow for a moment, and when he reemerged the meeting began:

Tony: Gentlemen, glad you can make it and thanks for coming. Please, help yourself to some of Colombia’s finest while we discuss business.

Vivek: Is this how you start all your meetings? (Bratz quickly reaches nudges Vivek and clears his throat)

Bratz: Umm, maybe in a little bit. Let’s hear the good news first.

Tony: Of course, of course. So as you know, I took over this franchise this summer and immediately made an impact by trading away Tyreke Evans. This brought in Greivis Vasquez and began our push straight back to the fucking top!

Bratz: (whispers to Vivek) This also got Portland Robin Lopez and you see how that’s turned out.

Tony: Now, I know that while my move was brilliant, business has not been so good. As of this moment we are losing, TOO FUCKING MUCH (he screamed as he slammed his desk and wildly looked around the room)! THAT’S UNACCEPTABLE!

Vivek: Tony, calm down! I understand where you’re coming from. Trust me, we are all invested in this team and want to see a return to the glory days as much as anybody.

Bratz: Yeah, on the bright side we have some players really coming into their own and playing well right now in DeMarcus and Isaiah Thomas. We’re moving in the right direction in a very competitive conference.

Vivek: Can you please stop doing that cocaine for a second? At least until we’re out of the meeting?

Tony: No, no it’s fine, I’m cool (he said as he shook in his chair). Being the incredible business mind that I am, I decided that we needed another move. Another star to pair with this Boogie Man everyone talks about. And because of that, I would like to announce a trade proposal.

Bratz nervously sits up in his chair: A tr-trade?

Vivek: Oh thank god, I thought you were about to have us killed!

Tony: I’m not going to kill you, Frank.

(Awkward silence. Eventually the silence is broken by the sound of Tony snorting more coke).

Bratz: So the trade, Tony, whats the proposed trade?

Tony excitedly claps his hands together and puts a Cuban cigar in his mouth: I’m glad you asked. Gentlemen, the superstar we are about to obtain is non-other than small forward extraordinaire, Rudy Gay!

Bratz: I’m sorry, I thought you said Rudy Gay?

Vivek: I thought you said a superstar?

Tony: Exactly!

Bratz: Tony, I don’t know if that’s a good fit for us. I mean, Rudy is shooting below 40% on the year, he’s overrated defensively, and he takes a lot of shots. Don’t you see that clashing with another star on this team that happens to be, how should I put this, volatile?

Vivek: Plus I can’t pay for that contract and run a successful team. How rich do you think I am, Tony?

Tony: That’s the beauty of it all, he brings that star appeal, yeah? Puts the asses in the seats, no? He’s like our own Kevin Durant or LeBron!

Vivek: That’s not even close to being the same thing.

Bratz: Wait a second, didn’t you just make a trade like a week ago for Derrick Williams?

Tony: (something is Spanish).

Bratz: What? Wait, so who are we giving them in return?

Tony: Hokay, so we get the superstar Rudy Gay, someone named Quincy Acy, and Aaron Gray, which I admit I misread his name and thought it was also Gay so I thought maybe they were brothers or something. But now that I’ve seen what this Gray looks like they clearly aren’t related.

Vivek: And?

Tony: And in return we give them John Salmons, Patrick Patterson, Chuck Hayes, and Greivis Vasquez, whom after I trade for him this summer I’ve realized is not Cuban after all.

Bratz rubs the bridge of his nose: Ok so in exchange for three expiring contracts and a solid point guard we traded for one of the worst contracts in the entire NBA?

Tony: Pretty good, right?

Vivek: No! That’s terrible! What about cap space for free agency? You realize he is going to make 20 million dollars next season, right?

Tony slams his desk again and stands up: HEY! FUCK YOU AND YOUR FUCKING CAP YOU FUCKING COCKAROACH!! THIS IS THE TRADE FOR THE FUTURE! NO SUPERSTAR FREE AGENT WANTS TO COME PLAY FOR THE FUCKING KINGS! BUT NOW WE HAVE ONE BECAUSE I AM A FUCKING GENIUS.

Bratz: Ok, ok, ok, guys let’s settle down and let’s talk about this from a basketball and business standpoint. Yes, it is true that our chances at a star in free agency are slim. But look at what markets like Indiana, San Antonio, and Portland have accomplished this season by drafting well, signing smart, and developing their talent in-house. Shouldn’t we attempt that? I mean we have DeMarcus locked in for another couple of seasons and he is having a monster year so far. We might really have something with this Thomas kid, and we got some pieces we can move to get the right veterans for this team. I think if we continue to be patient we—

(SSSNNNOOOOOORRRRRRTTTTTTTT sniff sniff)

Tony: While that sounds good and all (he said as he wiped his nose) I’m going to inform you that I’ve already made the trade. The Kings are getting a superstar thanks to your superstar GM!

Cut to a scene in Toronto to the Raptors front office where GM Masai Ujiri is getting lap dances from three gorgeous strippers at the same time and “All the Way Turnt Up” is blasting in the background. Drake is standing besides Ujiri while showering him and the strippers with hundreds of dollars. Champagne is flowing to the point where DeMar DeRozen is passed out on the couch from celebrating so hard. Ujiri’s phone keeps blowing up with texts from rival GM’s across the league ranging from “Well played, you fucking asshole,” to “I HOPE YOU BURN IN HELL YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Riggin for Wiggins is in full effect in Toronto.